


The Man I Love Is Married Now

by leiascully



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-20
Updated: 2004-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh and Donna's wedding.  Sam watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man I Love Is Married Now

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Lyrics from Stuart Davis' "Penguins".  
> Disclaimer: _The West Wing_ and all related characters are property of Aaron Sorkin, Thomas Schlamme, and NBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

_I'm just another penguin, squirming in my tux_

Sam hovered at the edge of the room, toying with a flute of champagne. Sam had never been a hoverer, had hated hoverers. He was a go-get-'em guy, Don't Tread On Me, an instigator. He downed his champagne and set the glass down firmly on a table, almost upsetting it, worried that the delicate base would crack. Maybe that would be okay. Maybe destruction was the way to relieve his frustration. His despair was like a champagne flute, fragile and ringing until he thought he might shatter. The pitch of the ringing increased every time he saw them together. Fortunately they were kept busy enough that they didn't often have a moment to themselves: Donna had danced with half the Democrats in D.C. and Josh was occupied with handshakes and congratulatory slaps on the back. It seemed a mysterious truth for a wedding, that the bride and groom should be apart for so much of the reception, but Sam was untroubled. He found another flute of champagne, swallowed the contents, found a third and demolished it. He hadn't eaten anything. He had no appetite for fancy catered hors d'oeuvres or wedding cake. The one bite of cake he had taken in mimic of joy still seemed stuck in his throat, impervious to the tiny bubbles of the wine. The frosting had tasted like glue.

_I'm dancing with your mom, she says that I'm a klutz_

He had danced with Josh's mom, desperate to avoid hovering for as long as possible; he could sense the instinct rising in himself, a throwback to middle school when he had not been handsome or eloquent. She had smiled, remembered his name, been glad to see him secondary only to her joy at her son's union.

"How are you, Sam?" She had been glowing as he held her at a decorous distance.

"I'm fine," he had said, and smiled his campaign-trail grin as he tried not to step on her feet. That at least had succeeded; he thought she had seen through his cardboard smile. A few times they had stumbled over each other's shoes. He had been bolting champagne since the I do's.

"Sam..."

"Yes, Mrs. L?"

She scrutinized him. Her eyes were Josh's eyes. Her expression was curiously soft.

"Nothing, Sam."

_And they pass me the microphone so I can make a toast_

Sam didn't know how he had been shuffled up to the front of the room. There was a microphone in his hand. It thrummed the way his head did, and it was heavy in his hand. Josh stood with his arm around Donna, both of them radiant, but there was a strange pleading look on Josh's face layered under the bliss of conjugal union. His mouth worked nervously as he watched Sam. Donna lay her head on his shoulder, oblivious. Josh kissed her forehead but kept his eyes on Sam. The message was clear: please don't.

Sam looked away and cleared his throat.

_You're afraid that I'll blurt out the man I love is married now_

The campaign-trail smile came out again, blindingly good-humored. He focused it on Josh, illuminating him as if they were the only two in the room, though the aureole of Donna's blonde hair destroyed the illusion. Lovely Donna, who in his way Sam loved. Donna who was good for Josh. She had kept Josh steady, which was good for all of them. She was to Josh everything that Sam had been before, and more. The wattage of Sam's grin dimmed. His silver tongue felt unwieldy. The remnants of cake frosting cemented it to the roof of his mouth.

Toby was there, standing in Sam's line of sight with his hooded eyes implacable but his foot tapping in that nervous way that make the ice in his whiskey clatter, a tune that drove Leo mad. Sam knew the foot's tempo well. He could hear the message in a Morse code of sorts: don't fuck it up, Sam, you're a speechwriter.

Sam took a deep breath. "What can I say about Joshua and his Donnatella?" The smile brightened, steadied. He told an amusing anecdote about Donna's employment, affirmed that she was the best for Josh and beloved by all, raised his champagne and drained it just as he felt the corners of his smile crumble. As usual, his timing was perfect.

_You were just exploring. Boy will be boys_

We only did it once, Josh had said at the small gathering he laughingly called a bachelor party. The two of them had been ensconced in the closet. Sam was almost choked by the symbolism and by the soft lapels of jackets marching on to the left. Josh's voice was urgent with gin.

"No big deal," Sam said. "I'd forgotten."

It was a lie. Even in the dark he knew Josh saw through him. Josh had always seen through him. That had been the reason for the sex in the first place, one hot tequila-laced night just after college. Sharing the last lime, their lips touched; their lovemaking was all salt in Sam's memory, salt and damp tangled sheets. But that had been all it had taken: he was lost in devotion to Josh and both of them knew it. Over the years, the desire had softened. They hadn't kissed in many years, restraining themselves to properly masculine platonic hugs at the sweetest moments of victory.

"Sam." Josh's voice low in the closet. Sam pressed his face against the jackets, no doubt smoothed by Donna's hands.

"Don't worry." In the dark, he had felt the pressure of Josh's fingers clasped around his, pleading. "You don't want your closet making too much noise. Anyway, it was nothing. You think I'd do anything to hurt you?"

The pressure on his hand had eased. He felt the fingers snaked around the back of his head, and Josh let his forehead rest against Sam's.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Sam. Sorry. You know I never intended things to happen this way."

Sam had had no idea what things Josh was talking about, but he swallowed and said, "Sure. No problem. Anyway, I'm going. Maybe when I leave here we can put this all aside."

He had hesitated, breathing Josh's breath, remembering the flavour of lime on salted lips, and then he had left.

_I just have to see her face when I tell her that I share her taste in men_

He danced with Donna, floating by then on a cushion of champagne bubbles, and the illusion reinforced by the blossom of Donna's skirts. She leaned on him nearly as intimately as she had leaned on Josh, her head tucked against his shoulder. Sam held her tenderly; he loved her as if she were his sister. If Josh had to be with anyone else, surely Donna was the right choice. Donna had always been the right choice, and the prudent choice, and none of them lived in a world where they could afford to make imprudent choices. Sam sighed into Donna's pinned-up curls.

"You loved him, didn't you?"

The question startled him. She hadn't raised her head from his shoulder.

"How did you know?" he whispered, trying not to let his lips move too much.

"Call it women's intuition. When we were dancing, he kept acting as if there were someone behind him."

He waited for a moment. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, Sam."

The music ended. He kissed her cheek.

"It's better this way. You're so good for him."

She took his hands and looked into his eyes. There was nothing left to say. He kissed her again, catching Josh's eye. Sam raised his hand, tasting Donna's makeup on his lips, and then lowered it to his heart. Josh flattened his palm briefly over his lapel, putting the petals of the white rose in disarray, and Sam took a long last look around the reception and vanished through the door.


End file.
